


fire and the flood

by miraclemoon



Series: first times a charm [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Confessions, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Insecure Steve Rogers, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-09-25 16:48:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9830594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miraclemoon/pseuds/miraclemoon
Summary: “What if he was right?” Steve asks against the silence, terrified of finally letting this out, of finally revealing himself. He had settled to live the rest of his life without telling Bucky, without ever letting these decrepit feelings from seeing the light of day. He pushed them away every time Bucky tossed his arm over his shoulders, swallowed them whole when he smiled pure sunshine Steve’s way. He let these festering feelings find refuge deep in his belly and never let them free, never let them be known.Little does he know that Bucky's been doing the same.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Part 1 of a 3 part Mini series of the prewar boys!

Bucky all but kicks the front door open, floorboards groaning in response as he digs his other heel in to keep his balance. The hinges scream as the door slams open, and Steve would be a hell of a lot more pissed if he wasn’t so lightheaded.

“Fuck,” Bucky spits under his breath, beelining it straight to the bathroom as Steve leans against the door frame, the clatter of medicine bottles spilling into the sink as Bucky tears out a handful of items. It’s just the necessities, really – gauze, wound wash, bandages; they’re the only things they can’t afford to not buy every month, what with how easily Steve gets infected and the punks inability to keep his fists to himself for longer than a couple days.

 “Fuck!” Bucky repeats, and Steve’s staggering through the living room, propping the fridge open to take a swig of orange juice. Last thing Bucky and his heart needs is him passing out in the middle of their kitchen, which is a hell of a lot more possible than Steve’s comfortable to admit.

If Steve wasn’t worried that he’d start choking up blood, he’d laugh at how incredulous Bucky looked, zigzagging through their shoe box sized bathroom.

“Rogers, you’re gonna get it,” Barnes calls out, exhaling a sharp sigh, “Your ma’s gonna be praying a row of hail Mary’s soon enough, cause you’ll be cold and dead in the ground in no time. I can see it on your headstone already – Rest in Peace, Steven Grant Rogers, too stupid for his own good.”

“Nothin’ she ain’t expected before,” his lip stings as it pulls into a smirk, but the ache is worth it, what with the instantaneous twitch of Bucky’s brow.

Bucky all but leans forward and drags him into the bathroom, propping him onto the counter like he weights practically nothing as he frets and rolls his sleeves up. “Oh, really? Well, I’m sure ruining your best Sunday shirt oughta do it.”

There’s no humor in his voice, no light in those stormy grey eyes. Bucky’s brows have creased into a furrow, stare intense as he begins dampening a cloth with disinfectant, bottom lip caught underneath his teeth. He stares in concentration, tearing out fresh bandaids and setting them onto the counter. His movements are erratic, clumsy – adrenaline surging hot and fast through his veins, and Steve stares at him, amused.

Bucky’s always been one to step into his fights, to tear him out of ‘em when the going gets too tough, and he didn’t expect any different, really, as much as he still hates it. He tries not to fight on the Lord’s day, swear on his ma’s favorite rosary, but that McCarthy brother wouldn’t get his grimy hands off Mary Sue and no one was stepping in and, and –

And Steve hates how this is his favorite part of it all. The fights over, the adrenaline slowly fading away and the sweat on the back of his neck starting to dry, and they’re back in his shitty apartment with open wounds and sore limbs.

There’s nothing more than a low thrum under Steve’s skin, buzzing up his fingertips and down the length of his spine, and he’s trying to will the warmth away, trying to stop it from slowly blooming in his chest.

He hates being dotted upon like a child, hates how Barnes turns into Mother Hen like it’s second nature for him. Working so desperately with no reward to help him out, make sure nothing gets infected and heals right, and Steve hates it, he _hates_ it.

He hates how much he loves it.

He’s about to open his mouth to disrupt the sterile silence when Bucky’s rolling up his slacks, quick to press Hell’s fury against the fresh, open wound on his knee.

“Shit!” Steve gasps, the pain so searing that his eyes start to gloss over with tears. He didn’t think he scraped his knee so bad, but since the blood so easily stained through his slacks and sits there as a reminder of his hotheadedness, he really should have known better.

Bucky scoffs at his reaction, continuing to press the cloth against his weeping wound. “That ain’t nothin’, you should see your other knee. Surprised I can’t see bone.”

Steve playfully kicks at Bucky’s shoulder, who’s kneeled onto the bathroom tiles wiping away at the debris and blood that’s dripped down his shin. Bucky’ breathing has yet to have settled, coming out fast and sharp as he works quickly.

Steve frowns at that, perplexed by the brunet’s tense body language. They’ve been here so many times before that usually at this point Bucky can’t manage to keep his mouth shut, quick to call Steve every insult in the book for constantly trying to get himself killed.

Instead, he is met with nothing but silence, sitting heavy and languid and _wrong_ in the air, vile.

“Buck,” Steve calls out, but Bucky’s not paying him any mind, quick to clean his other knee, moving up his elbows and across his busted knuckles. Everything burns, tears welling at the corners of Steve’s eyes, and when Buck’s done he’s back on his feet to run the stained towel under the sink, doing his best to wring out the blood and dirt under the water.

“Hey, _Buck_.”

There’s a minute twitch of his brow, lips pulled down into a scowl. Impatient from waiting, Steve leans over and places his slender fingers over Bucky’s wrist, trying to catch his attention. His gaze trails down Bucky’s clenched jaw, catching on his bobbing adam’s apple. He watches Bucky’s throat work, and he can’t help but stare, the air trapped in his lungs as he forgets to breath.

“Bucky,” he calls again, voice soft, and Bucky’s shoulders twitch in response.

“There’s blood on your shirt.”

Grey eyes scan across the length of the counter as Steve’s fingers gently fan out across his wrist, ghosting over his raw knuckles, the flesh open and angry. Bucky won’t meet his gaze, but his fingers fidget at the sudden touch.

“I wanted to kill him.” Bucky says simply, the words heavy as they sit in the air like hot smoke. Steve can practically hear him grinding his teeth, shoulders pulled tight from all of the rage that’s yet to dissipate from his body.

“Still do. Bastard deserves it.”

Steve pulls at Bucky’s sleeve and nudges him away from the sink, closer into his space, though he’s only met with resistance. Bucky won’t move, won’t face him, simply stares into the soggy towel wrung out in his left hand. His nails dig into the fabric, grip so tight that it only pushes more blood out from his scraped knuckles until it oozes down his fingers.

“The way he put his hands on you, swung you against the wall like a rag doll. I didn’t even think. I didn’t, I just –“

“Look at me.” Steve demands, and when Bucky doesn’t, when he still keeps up this childish act, Steve twists his body and pulls Bucky in with both hands, forcing him to stand in the space between his legs. The brunets gaze is still fixated on the bloody sink, and Steve chews at his cheek, trying to climb over this barrier Bucky is establishing.

 “It’s okay,” he says simply, but Bucky scoffs, harsh and unapologetic.

He tries to move away but Steve’s grip is unrelenting, forcing him to stay close. Bucky never shuts him out like this, never sits with slowly brewing rage like Steve does. He’s the more rational one, the one who talks things through, takes action. Steve’s terrified he’ll storm out of his apartment at this rate, fixated on finding that damn McCarthy fella and his goons if Steve doesn’t talk him out of it first.

“Called you worthless, a nobody.” Bucky spits the words out, as if they’ve gone rancid on his tongue with how long he’s let them sit there. “He fuckin’ called you a goddamn fairy and I couldn’t just stand there –“ Bucky yells, voice rising with every word, and Steve can’t help it, he doesn’t think about what he’s about to do.

Even resentful, Bucky looks beautiful, the furrow of his brows and the pout of his lips as it trembles in frustration pulling Steve in. Wayward strands stick to his sweaty forehead, and there’s nothing Steve can do to stop his heart from racing, from filling his chest with that detestable warm feeling no dames managed to spring up.

Steve does exactly what he knows he shouldn’t, what he’d been planning his whole life from ever instigating.

He leans in and kisses Bucky.

His split lip stings against the contact, blood heavy against his tongue, but he breathes in Bucky’s aftershave, feels his rough stubble scrape against his chin as he holds them into place. Bucky’s breath catches in his throat and Steve can feel the instantaneous reaction of his body, how his muscles draw so tight and rigid that Steve’s certain he’s doing to snap and finally crumble apart.

Bucky’s eyes are wide as they stare at Steve, his movements jittery as he steps back, so shocked from the kiss he trips over himself and falls onto his ass, the breath knocked out of him. He stares unmoving, at a loss for words.

“What if he was right?” Steve asks against the silence, terrified of finally letting this out, of finally revealing himself. He had settled to live the rest of his life without telling Bucky this, without ever letting these decrepit feelings from seeing the light of day. He pushed them away every time Bucky tossed his arm over his shoulders, swallowed them whole when he smiled pure sunshine Steve’s way. He let these festering feelings find refuge deep in his belly and never let them free, never let them be known.

Guess all of that was pointless, Steve settles.

Not like they can do anything about it, anyways. Bucky’s future is already set, the perfect picture for every parent when they imagine their first born son on the verge of adulthood: find a pretty dame, get hitched, have kids. Pass on the Barnes legacy, name their kids Winifred and George after his ma and pa, cause hell – Steve knows that Bucky loves his folks and that he would be a great father. Kids have always loved him, the youngsters in the grades below him used to follow him around like ducklings through the school yard, hungry for his affection, and he’s done a hell of a great job with Becca and the twins.

Bucky has the entire world at his disposal, and there’s just not enough room for Steve in it.

Why’d he even do this, anyways? Bucky’s taste lingers on his lips and Steve just wants to swipe his tongue out and taste him, indulge in the fantasy that he knows doesn’t exist. He wants to hold Bucky’s hand in public, kiss him when a film of milk catches at his upper lip, he wants to call him his fella and live the dream every dame would want when they’ve found a guy worth telling her parents about.

Loneliness grips at Steve’s chest, a seizing force that chokes the breath right out of him, because he knows there’s no going back, no returning to those simple, ignorant days when he used to walk on eggshells with this wretched secret of his clutched safe against his chest.

 For all he knows, this could be the last time he ever shares a room with James Buchanan Barnes.

He looks down and meets Bucky’s gaze, who stares at him like a deer caught in headlights. Steve’s eyes scan to memorize the details of his face, how the light always catches against his grey eyes and stubble grows against the length of his jaw. If this is the last time he sees him, he wants to make it worth it.

“Guess he did have reason to beat me up then, huh, Buck?”

“Ain’t no one’s got a good enough reason for getting their hands on you.” Bucky responds after a long moment, the words clumsy against his tongue. He swallows thickly, staring down at the yellowing tiles at his feet.

“Stevie, you –“ Bucky pauses, not quite meeting Steve’s eyes, “You can’t be serious about this.”

“You makin’ fun of me?” Steve challenges, practically spitting smoke. “Took away 20 years of life to do that and you think this is a joke. That’s worse than calling me a fairy, Barnes.”

“Steve, no, I just –“ Bucky rises to his feet, urgency in his words. He crowds back towards Steve, not even establishing distance between them like Steve expects him to. He brings his hands over and holds Steve’s shoulders, grip firm and grounding.

Steve can see the uncertainty in Bucky’s gaze, and he exhales slowly, a small smile on his face.

“Look, Buck, I ain’t lookin’ for no handouts. I don’t expect anything out of you. Hell, I’m surprised you haven’t hit the road yet.” He laughs, and Bucky’s eyes soften, a chuckle offered in response.

“Don’t think I got any wind in me to do that, punk. Ya knocked it right out my lungs.”

He smiles, but Steve knows it doesn’t reach far, what with the way his brows are creased and his lips stretch thin and long.

Silence saturates the room, and Steve’s certain his heart is going to beat straight out of his sternum, jump through his undershirt and splatter against the tiled floors with how hard it’s racing. Bucky isn’t saying anything, but he isn’t leaving – hell, both his hands are resting against Steve’s body, holding onto him as if he’s terrified he’ll splinter and fade away, but Steve’s drowning under all the thoughts that are raging through his head, suffocating under each new wave.

_What’s he thinking?_

_Does he regret making friends with a freak?_

_When the hell is he going to finally decide to fuckin’ leave?!_

“Are you sure?” Bucky asks instead, voice tender and eyes searching, but Steve hardly hears him, the rushing of blood deafening in his good ear and the invasive questions surging to the forefront of his thoughts.

He shakes his head, struggling to reestablish focus.

“Pretty damn sure, Barnes,” Steve snaps, anxiety creeping up his spine. He hates waiting games. He knows how this is going to end and it’s hard to treasure these last precious moments together when Steve feels alien in his own body, disappointed that God continues without fail in making him a stain in society. Bad lungs, bad heart, and hell, an even worse head on his shoulders. Steve just keeps proving in new ways that he’s all wrong.

Bucky exhales deeply, a long, slow exhale that wears the strain of years of stress, and Steve straightens his shoulders, lifting his chin. This is it, he thinks.

He’s ready.

It was good while it lasted, but Steve always knew it was a matter of time before he lost the best damn thing that happened to him. He’s been lucky enough to have Bucky for this long, and he should be grateful, not disappointed.

“Always gotta make things difficult for me, don’tcha, Rogers?” Bucky whispers, lifting his hand from Steve’s shoulder.

Steve’s about to respond back, but the words die in his throat, the heat of Bucky’s palm pressed against his cheek halting all thoughts. Bucky’s eyes are tender as they stare at him, and Steve’s brows crease in confusion.

“Wait,” Steve begins, and as Bucky leans closer he feels panic surge through his blood. Steve scrambles further back against the counter, crowding against the medicine cabinet as he pulls away, “Wait, wait!”

His hands are extended out to press firm against Bucky’s chest, keeping him at arm’s length away.

“The hell you doing, Barnes?” Steve stutters, eyes panicked as they search Bucky’s face. The brunet simply raises an eyebrow, just as confused.

“The hell you think I’m doin’?” he asks, but his voice is soft and tender, chest pressing against Steve’s palms as he leans forward. Bucky’s tongue darts out and swipes across his lips, and Steve hates how he’s staring, hates how he feels like he’s about to fall apart at the seams. Bucky’s heat saturates through his shirt and soaks into Steve’s palms, and Steve wants to melt into the sensation, give in and indulge in the pleasure.

But he can’t do that. He can’t drag Bucky down with him, not with this.

“Bucky,” Steve begins, voice all wrong as desperation wells in his throat, “You – you can’t. You gotta be kidding me.”

“Well who’s makin’ fun of who now, Rogers?” Bucky spits, rolling his eyes, “I swear, you never know how to make up your damn mind.”

Steve swallows hard, fingers clenching into his blood stained shirt.

“Bucky, we can’t. _You_ can’t.”

“And why not?”

“Cause you’re supposed to get married!” he shouts, unable to calm the storm that’s raging in his chest. “Ain’t no one’s gonna believe you can’t find yourself a dame to settle down with, it won’t be long till your ma goes asking why it’s takin’ you so long. I – I can’t give you what she wants, Buck. What either of your folks want.”

“And what about what _I_ want? Christ, do you even understand what you’ve _done_ , Steve?” Bucky stares at him incredulously, eyes animated and soft, so damn soft and sweet that Steve’s drowning in them, can’t look away if he wanted to.

“ Been wantin’ you since before I even fit into my pa’s slacks, so what am I supposed to do now? Let you go when all I’ve ever wanted was to hold you closer, is that it?”

Steve’s throat goes tight, but he can’t cry, he can’t. He hates how Bucky’s being difficult, he was supposed to make this easy for them, he was supposed to make this easy for _him_. Leave and finally realize that Steve’s no good for him, like he should have years ago.

“You don’t know what you’re saying.” Steve argues, because Bucky ever feeling the same was never an option. He could imagine Bucky calling him a freak and demanding to never see him again before he imagined Bucky ever trying to kiss him.

“The hell I don’t. I swear to God and his holy choir, Rogers, I wouldn’t fuck around with something like this. Not this.”

Bucky’s hand slowly shifts from his shoulder and rests against Steve’s neck, curling behind his neck as the other travels to settle against his thigh. Steve’s still won’t let him in, but Bucky needs to continue the contact, needs to solidify his words.

Steve blinks wetly, inhaling sharply.

 “I can’t give you kids,” he tries, desperate to keep Bucky away, but Bucky simply pushes closer, Steve’s arms starting to bend in defeat.

“You idiot,” Bucky chastises, moving slowly as he bumps his nose against Steve’s,  his breath ghosting over the crest of Steve’s lips. “Was ready to take this with me to my grave and you just hadda dig it up. Christ, Rogers, was so sure you knew at this point, after the stunt I pulled today, was horrified I gave it all away.”

“You always get me out of fights.”

“But have you seen me that burned up before?” he asks, and Steve can’t say he has, he never really did think Buck was capable of so much animosity. Someone soft and tender as Bucky Barnes, kicking someone’s front teeth out without an ounce of remorse.

“I was mad as spit, watching him get his hands on you, throw you to the ground. Wanted to choke the life right outta him after touching you like that.”

Steve sucks in sharply, unprepared for any of this. Bucky’s breath is thick on his tongue, and his lips tremble, anxious.

“Please,” Bucky begs, thumb fanning out to caress Steve’s cheek, “C’mon, Stevie, please. Wanna kiss you proper this time, doll, let me have this. Let us happen.”

Tears well in the corners of Steve’s eyes, and he shakes his head, overwhelmed.

“You’re gonna ruin your life.” He chokes out, words thick with emotion, “I can’t be what you need.”

“You’ve done a fine job of that already,” Bucky soothes, and Steve’s struggling to keep it together, to not let tears stream down and catch against Bucky’s thumb. He’s failing miserably, from protecting Bucky and keeping his damn emotions in check.

Bucky’s breath is warm against his lip, and he hates how he wants to lean in, wants to close this distance that stretches between them. Even if they’re only a few inches apart, it’s still too far, still too suffocating.  

“C’mon,” Bucky calls, and Steve melts into him, resolve wavering.

“Let me be your fella, Stevie. Wanna kiss you proper this time, show you how it’s really done.” Bucky chuckles, gaze tender. Steve hates how responsive he is to Bucky’s comfort, how he wants to sink into his arms and give in, let it all happen. His slender fingers fan out and slowly slide up Bucky’s shoulders, hesitant.

“’Sides, you call that a kiss, Rogers?” Bucky teases, tone so sweet it makes Steve’s teeth itch, “Ya don’t gotta hold your breath to kiss someone.”

Steve stares up at him wetly, lips twitching into a smile.

“Ain’t got nowhere near as much practice as you.”

“So let me show you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Please be sure to leave a comment/kudos on your way out if you enjoyed c: Will be posting parts 2 and 3 in this series in the following weeks or so. Tune in, as those will be a little more saucy lol.
> 
> Find me on [tumblr](http://badbrooklynbitch.tumblr.com/) c: I love making new friends!!


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